


in the wind that remakes all that time has worn away

by starsplash



Category: Linked Universe - Fandom, The Legend of Zelda & Related Fandoms
Genre: Bonding, Fluff, Gen, Good times with the Boys, Linked Universe (Legend of Zelda), Lots of Thinking, brain empty, sorry i've run out, they go horse-riding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-28
Updated: 2020-06-28
Packaged: 2021-03-04 10:42:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24968401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starsplash/pseuds/starsplash
Summary: time thinks of home and the call of adventure.
Relationships: Link/Malon (Legend of Zelda), Time & Twilight (Linked Universe), Time/Malon
Comments: 6
Kudos: 73





	in the wind that remakes all that time has worn away

**Author's Note:**

> thank you to everyone for all of your support! the title is from 'thus always to tyrants' by the oh hellos, although the fic itself was born from an idea based off of 'where is your rider?' by the oh hellos.

The pale light of dawn bathes the ranch in a warm glow; the sun rises, slowly and surely, and Time rises with it. 

It’s another world here; the morning is lazy and there’s a breeze that barely sifts through the grass. There’s birds chirping and a quiet murmur that seems almost like static. Malon is still asleep beside him, and he doesn’t wake her up, not yet. It’s early and she deserves another few minutes. 

The room is peaceful, the house is quiet. He can hear mumbled words just beyond the door that fade away - he’s not the only one awake, but he feels comforted. 

The world outside is calling him.

Beyond these walls, there are endless rolling fields and light and he stands up, stretching in the blue morning. The world outside the window could be out of a painting, he thinks, and he takes his time to admire it. It’s cool and warm all at once, and he raises a hand to brush his hair out of his face. 

Walking through the house is easy, and he does it with a hum on his lips. The sun rises a little further, spilling over the ranch like ink in water, and he lets out a breath. This is where home is, where senses melt and meld into one, where twenty breaths make for a single sigh of relief, where _trust_ is so omnipresent there’s no need to even mention it. He is here, and his boys are here, and Malon is here. He doesn’t want to leave. 

But the wild is still calling.

Twilight - his protege, his mind reminds him and it’s still something he can’t quite get over - is already in the kitchen, side by side with Wild, and there is an easy familiarity between the two. A nudge of a shoulder, quiet whispers shared between them, it’s all there. Time watches and he doesn’t even try to keep the small, fond smile that spreads across his lips. 

The morning is filled with soft-spoken words and grins and the rest of the heroes filter in, gradually. The feeling Time gets - he can’t put it into words, but it’s distant, it’s barely in his reach, but he clings to it with a fervour. He does not want to lose this feeling, when he has all of them with him. 

Outside, the air is clear and it whistles, it sings to him, and he listens in quiet reverence. It’s been too long, since he was last able to appreciate the world around him in such a way, but he’s here now. The vastness of the blue sky above him, with wisps of pale white and gray still lingering, never ceases to take his breath away. The grass sways under the caress of the breeze and he wants to be out there, he wants to be in the open fields under the sun’s gaze, but he has a job to do, so he stays home and enjoys it from where he stands.

The light gets brighter, and it’s nearly noon when he finds Twilight in the stables. His attention is held purely by the horse in front of him - his own Epona, he thinks with a feeling that reminds him of pride, and a nostalgia he can’t put his finger on yet. She nickers and it’s gentle; she’s not as fiercely spirited as his own Epona once was, but she is still wonderful all the same. 

Time quirks his lips and leans against a wooden post, arms loosely crossed over his chest. “She’s beautiful,” he tells his protege and he struggles to keep the softness out of his tone - there is something raw and uncertain but so very _real_ when he is with Twilight, and he wants it to last. So he makes an effort, he tries and keeps trying. It’s the repetitive motion he remembers with his own Epona, building the bond with her; he had tried and kept trying and this is a little different and yet all the same. 

He wants to mean something more to him. 

The man’s gaze flicks to him - he’s been busy, this morning, Time thinks; Twilight’s shirt is missing and his shoulders have a very faint sheen of sweat. His hair is as unkempt as always, and it’s comforting, it’s familiar. “She is,” he agrees, and his smile isn’t hesitant. It’s there, slow and all at once. 

The whisper of the wind floats through the structure, over his lips and his skin, and he ignores it. 

“It’s been a while,” Time admits, and it’s a tired huff of breath accompanied by a smile and he wonders why - he is infinitely more comfortable when he’s here with Malon, and yet he gets a certain feeling of nostalgia and wistfulness whenever he is with Twilight - he has not existed in Twilight’s Hyrule but he feels the man is just like home and he doesn’t know how to feel about that. “Since I’ve been able to ride, I mean.”

The noise Twilight makes is an offhanded, nonchalant hum in response. He has a thoughtful look in his eyes, and Time wonders what thoughts are running through his head. “We could ride, if it’s not too late for you?” He offers, and it’s hesitant and it feels easily withdrawn.

Time quirks a brow, and tries to ignore the sudden pace of his heart picking up. “It’s not even noon.”

The shrug Twilight offers is playful and there’s a glint of challenge in his eyes and oh, _oh,_ he wants to. He wants to follow the call of the world around him, the song of the wind and the whisper of the wild. He wants to be out in the plains that roll under the touch of the wind, all golds and greens and browns. 

Twilight is giving it to him, this opportunity.

So he takes it.

They’re nearly finished tacking up when Malon comes to check up on them. Her expression is gentle and unsurprised, and she presses a chaste kiss to his cheek. “Be careful,” she says, with a knowing gleam in her eyes, and Time can feel his heart in his ears, and it’s something he has missed. 

He nods, and Twilight makes a promise to keep safe. Sometimes, Time wonders if Malon sees him and the others as her boys, as well. 

And then the field below his feet stretches out far and wide, further than he can see, and Epona still has a little of the enthusiastic fire she used to have. Twilight is beside him and he smiles an encouraging smile, and it reminds Time of the childish glee he always had when he would ride. 

It’s a step into the open air, and he turns it into a run, and he dares to think that he could almost touch the sky.

Time feels his lips curl up into a smile - it’s mischievous and he can feel the thrum of energy through his veins, and it’s like he’s a child again. The look of excitement, burning incandescently in Twilight’s eyes, only fuels the anticipation. 

They are carefree and wild, and the wind rushes against his ears and it’s a syncopated beat, Epona’s hooves pounding against the ground and his heart drumming in his chest; the air is fresh against his skin and he breathes it in - it tingles and his hair brushes against his cheeks and he _lives._

Twilight whoops, and it’s a noise that almost gets lost in the hammer of his heart in his ears and the song of the wild - it sings to him, and _oh,_ how he missed this. The mountains stand tall against the horizon and the fields roll beneath him and he _lives_ through it, getting lost here, where the sun shines down and there is an endless, vast world, and his boy is with him. 

A sound rumbles up from his stomach and it’s a laugh, erupting from his throat, and he mimics the noise, yelling into the open sky. 

He lives. He breathes. His heart beats. His body moves. He is _alive._

It’s a sense of freedom, vivid and all-encompassing, and it takes him along this winding path invisible to the eye and untouchable, but it is there nonetheless and he follows it through the valley, Twilight right next to him, full of an incomparable vivacity that he hasn’t seen before and he revels in it, in the way his own chest heaves and his own breaths come out hard and fast and the earth passes him by with every movement, faster than he can comprehend. The ridges of the ground become more pronounced with each moment, and he can see the slope downwards - it’s rocky, it’s dangerous, and he does not hesitate. He does slow down a little, though, for Epona’s sake. 

The canyon looms above them, and the sun continues its climb as they descend. The words he wants to say are hard to place but he has not seen this canyon in so long, he had forgotten the way the wind howls through the carved-out shape. There must have been a river here, once, but it has long since dried up, and the ground is worn away with time. 

“This place is huge,” Twilight says, and his voice is awed. Time watches his eyes rove over the sides of the canyon. They’re riddled with ledges and overhangs and little alcoves, and they are bathed in the glow of the sun as it reaches its zenith, sitting proud on its throne in the sky. Twilight’s hair is all copper and bronze and it lies across his forehead, shadowing his eyes, which in turn are wide and full of wonder, and it’s a rare sight. 

Time is waking from a dream long gone past and he’s wakened to a world so full of life and shape and texture and sound and he loves it. 

The sun is clear in the sky and its light lays the hills low, fills the valleys to the brim, illuminating all it touches, and they’re nearly out of the canyon now. The wind is cool, tickling his skin, brushing against his hands, and his sword feels a little less heavy on his back. 

He feels strong, here. He feels in control. He could cut away the mountains themselves, he thinks with an exhilarating fire in his mind. Twilight turns his head to look at him, and it’s a challenging glint in his eyes that gets him running again. 

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you, Old Man?” His protege calls and it’s bright and clear, piercing the waves of wind. It’s music to his ears, and all he can do is nod. 

The day takes them through a valley and the fields that blanket the earth, spanning across the hills and crevices with no discrimination, covering all the light touches and everything hidden from it. The sun is setting by the time the ranch is in sight, and his boys are sitting outside with Malon. They wave and call out as they approach, but Time only half-listens.

He is tired - he has no strength with which to speak; the wild, the exhilaration, it has taken it out of him, and he is content with it. He settles on a smile, and the night is slow to take its hold over him. 

Twilight sits with him, that evening, when the fire’s low and most of the house is quiet, and it feels like a stolen moment, clandestine. Just between him and his protege, under the spill of colours over the horizon - it’s a cast of warmth, gold and scarlet and peach and rose, mixing in swirling tendrils with the clouds of violet and gray. It suits Twilight’s face, showing off all the little details, bathing his hair in a low, amber hue. 

“You should stay,” Twilight says abruptly, and it wakes Time up from his daze. It’s clear in the man’s eyes - they’re sincere and unwavering, and Time thinks of a feeling of pride, although he doesn’t fully know why. 

It’s a moment of thought, of comprehending, before he really realises what Twilight is suggesting. He doesn’t hesitate to shake his head firmly. He loves home, he loves Malon, and he wouldn’t give it up for anything in the world, but this journey is something he _needs_ as much as he needs the air he breathes. “I can’t leave you boys out there to fend for yourselves. I know you’re capable, but I’m not leaving you. That’s non-negotiable.”

Twilight opens his lips, as if to say something, but they fall into an exasperated smile - it’s endearing, it’s _real,_ and it means the world to Time. “There’s no arguing with you, huh? Alright.” He stands up, stretching his arms, and quirks his brows. “I’m gonna go get some rest. Don’t spend too long out here, alright?”

Time watches him go and the night air is cold and crisp. The noises of distant insects in the grass are tuned out as he listens to the call of the wind and he silently tells it _not today._

This journey is just another in a long line, but he finds himself with the need to continue on its path - it feels ingrained in his mind, and he listens to it, rather than the call of his own world. He has indulged in enough today, and that is all he needed. 

He falls asleep easily, that night, with Malon beside him, and the call of the wind cannot be heard through his walls.


End file.
